Tears of Buddha
by Starhopper
Summary: UPDATE 107, NOW WITH EPILOGUE! At 18, Misao is definitely not a child anymore...a fact that Aoshi is both eager and reluctant to accept. Rated for some angsty daydreams and intimate exchanges.
1. Possessions

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. I don't own the rights to ANYTHING like my dear Aoshi-sama or the spunky little Misao-chan. No, they are owned by Nobuhiro Watsuki and many other respected business-types.  
  
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Tears of Buddha  
  
Chapter 1: Possessions  
  
By Starhopper  
  
He continued to roll the two bells in his left hand, flexing his fingers to brush against his palm, then letting them crumple back to prevent the silver bell from sliding between the cracks just as its partner rounded the ridge of his thumb. It had begun as a way to pass the time, but after some three minutes of repeating the same motion, he was locked into a trance that only heavy meditation would unravel.  
  
"Okashira?"  
  
The man who was addressed continued to stare blankly at the open doorway before him, not even batting an obsidian eyelash as the bells jingled to the rhythm of his breathing, steadying the balance of his chi. How he had possibly allowed himself to become unbalanced was still beyond him.  
  
His attendant was more persistent, waving a gloved hand in front of his leader's gray eyes. "Okashira?"  
  
Closing his eyes, Aoshi pieced the real doorway from his sight into a meditative dreamscape, recreating every detail as it had lain before him before his world was so rudely intruded upon. There had been that disjointed nail hanging off to the side, serving no purpose to the function of the doorframe. The view had been dismal, nothing important there. Rain as could be expected during the Fall in Kyoto and the puddles that collected on the ground bore no great burden on this man's shoulders. Then there was that piece of wood peeling at the lower right-hand corner, fraying out like the tail of bound braid. A particularly long one that swung as if independent from the head it trailed from . . .  
  
The bells fell to the ground, clattering in unison as his eyes opened with another intrusion - this one edging in using the guise of a short little ninja with pools of blue peering up at him.  
  
Aoshi could feel his attendant move to leap back in surprise, but with a quick hand, grabbed a hold of his pant leg to seat him.  
  
Only after he silently checked himself for any signs of emotion did he move his head to address the annoyingly half-witted dolt that had somehow made it into his elite group of ninjas. "What is so gravely important Sukoshi?" His tone belied the interest in his question. It was a sigh if it was any sort of exclamation.  
  
"Shinomori-sama, it seems that the information has come in from Tokyo regarding,"  
  
Clenching the material at his thighs, Aoshi closed his eyes and tried to regain his composure. Balance, always balance. With a voice vexed by wandering thoughts and the untimely loss of all rational thought, Aoshi took a breath. "No need to continue Sukoshi-san." How he hated using such an informal with this man. He really didn't deserve Aoshi's friendship.  
  
She agreed too.  
  
Sukoshi lurched back to allow his leader to stand. "Okashira?"  
  
See? There he was over-reacting yet again. Was it entirely possible that this man was never entirely sifted through the Oniwabanshuu screening process? That would account for his untrained senses and bold moves when the situation needed to be dealt with the utmost care and respect. Certainly this man could never move in the night, strike with precision, and disappear like a ghost just as quietly as he had come. Well, truth be told neither could Misao, but she was loud in that way and effective in others. Yes, very effective.  
  
"Sukoshi-" he took a breath and grated out the "san." Once he was standing in the courtyard outside his little temple, he turned and waved off the attendant before making his way over to his room. Why had he even bothered with addressing him in the first place? Offense or not, he was Okashira and could do as he pleased.  
  
Like her.  
  
Cool composure bleeding into panic, Aoshi cleared the little garden courtyard, drenched as it was, in no time at all. Sliding his door shut, he stood stoically for a moment, eying the neatly folded futon and his Kodachi crossed over it.  
  
He hadn't done anything like that. Striding over to inspect them, he found some flower petals scattered over the bundle.  
  
She had been wearing that stupid flower for weeks now. Tucked just behind her left ear. She probably didn't take it off to bathe. Oh, stop thinking right now Shinomori.  
  
The one time he's too relaxed, too comfortable within his own skin, and she had to call him on it. And then they were standing alone in the garden, and he just had to pick that flower for her. Why did he pick it? He still couldn't say, but by far, the worst thing about the whole incident was that it was a dandelion. A weed half eaten by aphids . . . which he had taken the greatest care to shake off before sliding the green stem between her ear and hair. That raven soft hair, with an emerald sheen.  
  
He kneeled as if in repent for such a silly sin.  
  
Yes, but she was happy with a weed. To her it was a bouquet of the finest roses, if only because it was picked and handed to her by him. But to have his fingers, gloved as they were, brush against the firming line of her jaw . . . It was a truth he accepted with hesitation: She wasn't a child anymore.  
  
He allowed himself but a smile to flicker over his features before turning them rock solid once more.  
  
Makimachi. Look at what you've done to me.  
  
"Aoshi-sama?"  
  
Aoshi willed himself to not look directly at her as she sashayed so sweetly into his room. Just like Misao to not wait for his invitation and barge in on his personal space.  
  
Not that he wasn't really complaining.  
  
"Misao-chan," his eyes focused on the dying dandelion drooping over her ear as she bent to place the tea set before him, taking care that not one drop hit the immaculately polished floor. Even as she sat back, he kept his eyes on the left side of her face, reassuring himself that his attentions were preoccupied with the dandelion. He wouldn't allow them to travel over the defined curves, count her breaths, tally up all the marks of her maturity and count them in favor of -  
  
"Aoshi-sama," she nodded her head slightly, taking a seat on the opposite side of the folded futon.  
  
For a moment, Aoshi took leave of his senses. Here was a perfectly desirable woman sitting next to him, who would do anything to please him and had done so since she was old enough to smile, and had loved him with a mad obsession for most of her life. He could easily take her now, with the doors shut. Just to hold her, breathe her in, hear her say his name in a whisper laced heavily in euphoria -  
  
With a firm shake of his head, all notions of uncovering more truths to Misao's maturity first-hand dissipated and he was left sitting next to the woman who adored him.  
  
Misao shifted under her new kimono, whether it was in discomfort or anticipation he couldn't tell as he stood to balance his senses. She seemed to sense his unease in her close proximity, and moved farther away to appease his chi.  
  
He actually smirked at this, and turned his face for her to see her affect on him as he rose to his feet. "Calm yourself Misao-chan."  
  
She looked up at him and a flicker of inner-relief passed over her eyes. But in that flicker he could see the intensity of apprehensive fear that percolated behind those pretty sapphires. Had he disregarded her with a cool swing of his head, or walked out of the room when she had taken a seat so near to his person, things would have been as they should be.  
  
Yet, during the argument between balance and brain, Shinomori Aoshi had actually decided to let his emotions glide on through undiscovered and unchecked by both zen and logic.  
  
And she called him on it, as only she could.  
  
She leaned onto the heels of her palms, cocking her head at an inquisitive angle. "Are you feeling alright Aoshi-sama?"  
  
Aoshi now chose this moment to disregard the little ninja by refusing to make eye contact. He suddenly found the crease in his futon much more interesting than the fold of her kimono just below her neck as she brought her arms closer together on the floor, even going as so far to narrow his steely gaze at the futon and create shapes out of the fold lines.  
  
"Aoshi-sama?"  
  
There was a spindly tree branching out from the center.  
  
"Why won't you look me in the eye?"  
  
He rocked on his heels while driving nails deep into his palms. And then there was that bird winging its way over to the tree.  
  
"I'm sure you would tell me if everything wasn't alright,"  
  
Kami-sama, she was consoling herself. Where did the tree and the bird go? Now all he could see was her face, those wide eyes searching his for some sort of sign -  
  
As he literally stumbled out of his trance, he was caught by Misao. She held onto his arms as he steadied himself, her lithe little body more sturdy than it appeared. Gripping onto her shoulders, he bent down to her level, his face unreadable as she guided him back to where he had been sitting. Only this time she kneeled in front of him.  
  
"Now Aoshi-sama, you will tell me what's going on!" she flared, pulling one of his hands into her lap. Then, upon noticing the nail-imprints cut into his palm, shouted, "Nani?"  
  
Aoshi couldn't breathe. She was sitting too close. He was breathing too fast. As the balance that he constantly sought for slipped away from his grasp, he felt his entire face go numb. He knew he had his jaw hanging, that his ice-cold eyes were wide with what some might call fear while others would beg desire. Every muscle in his body tensed, becoming just as solid as that untouchable rock he made himself to be even while his tongue and all senses of perception turned to gooey jello.  
  
"You shouldn't hurt yourself like this," she admonished, tracing delicate fingers over the indentations. He had never truly realized how sensitive the palm was until she started to massage the marks out with her thumb. "What possessed you to do this?"  
  
He wanted to look her straight in the eye and tell her that it was her who possessed him so completely. He wanted to lean in, wrench his hand from her grasp and slide it along her hip, just to touch her with more than a courteous pat on the shoulder or accidentally as he disgraced her living beauty with a dead flower. Recently slain daydreams resurrected themselves as she stared at him, waiting for an answer. Consciously he reminded himself that she had slid the shoji shut and that if he could move as quietly as a cat when he was on assignment, that he could certainly keep his vocal chords still even as a release of emotion overwhelmed his senses. No one in the Aoiya would hear or suspect a thing.  
  
He tried to speak over these feelings that were welling up like lava inside him. But the gooey mess his tongue and mouth had melted into prevented him from getting very far in conversation.  
  
Misao kept watching and waiting, her head moving slightly as he tried to form words. Then to his astonishment, she set his hand down on the floor and hoisted herself up on her feet. "I can see you're not going to talk to me Aoshi-sama," she let her chin fall to her chest, the flower hanging over her left ear drooping even more pathetically. Remembering how to use the muscles in his face, he winced guiltily as she stood there, defeated.  
  
And her only victory was the flower that fell to the floor. He watched its descent, and felt the pain emanating from her chi as she smashed the petals beneath her wrapped feet. A step away from the closed door, she turned back to find his back turned to her. He could hear the door clack open, the swish of fabric as she stepped down onto the porch, and the final sliding of the shoji back into place.  
  
Moments too late, Aoshi took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Drawing up a fist to rest his forehead on he said, "You, only you Misao," and rolled his knuckles back and forth on the immaculately polished wood floor. "Look at what you've done to me." 


	2. Reflection

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. I don't own the rights to ANYTHING like my dear Aoshi-sama or the spunky little Misao-chan. No, Nobuhiro Watsuki owns them and many other respected business-types.  
  
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Tears of Buddha  
  
Chapter 2: Reflection  
  
By Starhopper  
  
Drawing the long sleeves up to her heart, Misao leaned against the wall outside Aoshi's door and cast uncertain eyes to the little stream coursing through the Aoiya. She wasn't at all sure if she wanted to sink down into a lonesome corner somewhere, hide her face in the ornate silks, and let the tears that she now choked back dampen her new kimono.  
  
Then again she could take the much more traveled path of wearing her emotions on her sleeves by shuffling through the kitchen, smashing pots and pans, and altogether ignoring Okina's cries to cease and desist with her mindless rampage. She continued to weigh her options as the rhythmic fall shower increased in intensity, concealing Misao and all her frustration with a heavy curtain of water.  
  
With a nod of her head, the ninja opted for the nearly forgotten plan C: go straight to her room and cry there. Leaning forward, Misao suddenly remembered her new outfit. It was a gift from her friends in Tokyo, the opalescent fabric hand-picked by Himura, the ocean-blue flowers tracing the sleeves and hems hand-stitched by Kaoru, hand-delivered by Sanosuke, and the message whispered to her by the very knowing Myojin-brat. "Kaoru said this will turn his Ice-Blue eyes."  
  
But her dear friend was wrong, Misao thought with a frown. Aoshi's Ice Blue Eyes remained immobile, never turning, never spinning with delight as she presented herself to him. Here she was, eighteen years old, mature and ready to be the lady on Aoshi's arm. She had thought that this new outfit would finally prove to him that she wasn't a child anymore. Only a lady could tie the obi just so, and kneel just so. Now the lady-like kimono would suffer a fate worse than the tomboy that pretended to wear it.  
  
Misao stepped out into the rain without ceremony, tilting her head up to the heavens to breathe in the scent of Kami-sama's tears, letting them run together with her own. Steps slow, hair plastered to the sides of her face, she appeared the picture of loneliness. Unknown to her, the rest of the Oniwabanshuu were watching her walk through the storm and cursing Shinomori Aoshi's name under their breaths.  
  
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Misao was drawn out of her reverie as she put sandal to wood bridge. She closed her eyes, and turned to lean over the railing. In the rippling waters below, her wide, innocent eyes stared back at her from a face she didn't readily recognize. It seemed disheartened as never before, totally crestfallen. A shining happy moment of pouring tea for Aoshi-sama flashed before her eyes but she blinked away the memory, not the least surprised to see a tear distort the image floating on the water's surface. She glanced up at the sky that grew darker with her moments of defeat, silently praying with her eyes that the rain would never end. She had too many tears for just one rainy day.  
  
With one last nod of acknowledgement down to the reflection, Misao started on the short walk to her room. As she slid open the shoji, she paused in the doorway to look down at herself reprovingly. All hopes of being the lady for Aoshi-sama had slipped away just as the sea-green pigment of the flowers had run off of into the cream kimono. She looked like a wet weasel, shivering and shaking beneath the floodgates, hiding beneath a rag of silk tossed to the wind by some maiden scorned.  
  
Drawing her legs up to her chest, Misao slid down the doorframe, pulling the material absent-mindedly around herself, not sure of what else to do. As she tugged at one of the sleeves, she heard a jingle. Her curiosity peaking, she stopped sniffling and held the sleeve by the shoulder while shaking it vigorously. Two small bells dropped to the floor, one with a sharp, but low note, the other more high pitched that actually bounced after its partner settled into the wood. She stared down at their shapes, running the morning's events through her head trying to discern as to how they made their way into the sleeves to begin with. Waking up, staring hopefully at the new kimono hanging above her futon, asking some of the other members to help her tie the obi, finding the Kodachi in the training hall and sneaking into Aoshi-sama's room to place them over his futon, pouring and singing about pouring tea for her dear Aoshi-sama, being frustrated at shuffling to his temple when she really wanted to run and jump, and finding that he wasn't there, set down the tray to pick up two round bells lying by a recently vacated meditation spot -  
  
Misao cautiously stretched out a long finger from the cover of the silk and tapped at the one that had fallen nearest to her. It delivered the highest, happiest pitch she had every heard that kept ringing well after she touched it. A small smile crept upon her lips as she picked it up with her right hand, the bell continuing to resound with what was almost laughter. She rolled it around her fingers, listening to its song, softly humming its tune while she closed her eyes.  
  
Unconsciously she stretched and hit its partner with her big toe. It returned the favor with another low tone that sounded more like an approving, 'hmm' at the back of a man's throat. Startled, she brought out her left hand and picked it up between her middle and forefinger, shaking it back and forth in front of her eyes before setting it down into her right palm, along with the laughing one. Burying her head into her left arm, Misao rolled the bells around her fingers, the bell's duet lulling her into a state of zen-peace.  
  
That, like her happiness that morning, was once again short-lived.  
  
With the advent of thunder, Misao shuddered, dropping the bells one by one onto the wooden floor where they sat, while the flashing lights of lightning arched over the polished brass. A cold gust suddenly swept through the doorway, blowing out the slowly dying candle hiding behind her folded futon in wisp of smoke. It rose in a lustful dance to be taken by the wind, and its final wish was granted as the thin trail was engulfed by its invisible partner, and swept back out the door, twirling in the wind's embrace as it whipped by Misao's face, smothering her in envy and self- pity.  
  
Unconsciously she raised a finger to touch the flower tucked behind her ear, but let that finger drop as she realized it had fallen. And she had crushed it in front of his eyes. Her hand crumpled against her chest and she held it there as if hoping the whole incident was just a dream and she still wore Aoshi-sama's gift with pride. It wasn't often that he trusted anyone, or showed his appreciation to the few close friends he had. So when they were standing alone in the garden, and he had bent to pluck the dandelion from the ground, and slid the stem so slowly into place adorning her with one symbol of a possible affection that he held dear for her, her throat had closed in on itself before she could say anything. He had just stared at her with the flower in her hair, and walked off towards the temple, shaking his head.  
  
And she had worn that weed for over a week now, determined to prove to him that she was greatly honored by his gift. Before she slept, Misao let it drink in a cup of water, and in the morning, had counted the petals to make sure none had fallen. She hoped that every day when she brought him tea, he saw how she took the greatest care to keep it alive. Yes, she understood how hard it was for him, that even after all the death and betrayal life had plowed him into headfirst, he could still trust this child he had raised. But couldn't he see that this child he had left behind at the age of six wasn't a child any more? Did he sense it in the line of her jaw, the matured refinement of how she held herself in check when she was around him? Even with the way she had accepted the flower, she had strived to be adult about it. Giddily dancing around him like an idiot wouldn't have been the adult thing to do, but standing wordless and surprised was.  
  
She sat up, a sudden clap of thunder boiling over the clouds as her thoughts frothed over her emotions. Why had he given her the flower the way he did? If he had thought her a child, he would've handed it to her, letting her do what with it as she pleased. But he had personally adorned her with it, knowing that once it was in place, it wasn't going to be removed. Could he, was he, was he claiming -  
  
Misao gripped onto her hair, forcing herself to shake her head, to believe that he couldn't possibly have given her that flower as the only way to let her and the rest of the world know that she was -  
  
His.  
  
That was all wishful thinking, brought on by the rising fever that she no doubt would be suffering from soon. It was all childish thinking that would have to go away soon if she ever wanted to be the lady for Aoshi-sama to walk with under the falling cherry blossoms.  
  
With this thought and persistently charging wind, Misao picked herself up from the doorframe and as she closed the shoji, looked across the garden. There, filling the thin doorway of his room, sat Aoshi-sama, his steel eyes intently studying her every movement from the cover of the rain. She paused, her hand poised over a wooden bar, gazing at him through wide ocean set eyes that roiled with their own storm, tears willfully crashing over their corners. She wanted him to see this rejection she felt as he sat satisfied with watching her from afar, while she would gladly run through the rain if only to stop inches from his chest, just so that she could gaze upon him with her own eyes unhindered by sheets of water, her voice overriding the growl of thunder roaring behind them as she told him all that she had felt, all that she felt, all that she would continue to feel.  
  
Instead of watching her with a predatory gaze that conveyed no emotions except a human's natural right to satisfying his curiosity. He didn't care. He didn't care that despite all the pain he put her through, she would continue to throw cautious glances over in his direction like this long one, while her heart poured out volumes of how deeply she loved him. If only he would just learn to read between the lines, maybe he would understand.  
  
And might care.  
  
Cracking under this pressure, Misao choked back a sob, letting the tears trace lines down her face even as she held the cry quiet in her heart. But she never let her head fall or give into the demands of an old obsession turned true love. Holding her head still, she closed the shoji door, keeping eye-contact with him until she heard the clack of wood meeting wood.  
  
Then she fell. Her legs turned into the puddles that rippled over the ground as her Aoshi-sama took his first cautious step into the garden. 


	3. Confessions

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. I don't own the rights to ANYTHING like my dear Aoshi-sama or the spunky little Misao-chan. No, Nobuhiro Watsuki owns them and many other respected business-types.  
  
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Tears of Buddha  
  
Chapter 3: Confessions  
  
By Starhopper  
  
Aoshi recognized that face held so still as stone that you thought it might crack, held so high that you knew your neck would snap back and that would be it. He saw it in the mirror everyday. And as he sunk his bare feet into the grass, he cursed its presence more now than ever before.  
  
He stared hard at the closed shoji screen, making educated guesses at what lay behind it, what awaited him. Judging from the speed at which she had moved since huddling against the doorframe, she didn't have the energy to throw a tantru-  
  
He reminded himself that if she wasn't a child anymore, that there wasn't any possible way for her to tear the place apart in a tantrum. No, she was an adult, and an adult would handle this type of situation as any other adult would. Or at least like the adult she had learned it from.  
  
Hold it all in until you're safe, then let it all out.  
  
But he had never truly let it all out yet. The closest he had come were the mass slayings before returning to Kyoto. With every slash and gutting, he could slowly feel his anger recede like the calm tides at the shore. However, it had all come rushing back when he fought the Battousai, and even as he lay on the floor of that library, thinking over all that he had accomplished and lived for, he truly hadn't woken up, as the Battousai had urged him to do.  
  
He couldn't yet, not until the danger had passed, and his murders were atoned for. Then it would be safe to open his eyes, and breathe in the morning after such a long sleep from humanity. As far as his world and glorified involvement in it were concerned, he was still very much asleep. But he knew, that even as he chased nightmares and skewered himself over his own Kodachi, there was someone sitting patiently by his side, waiting for him to wake up. And she was now gone.  
  
After literally pulling himself off the floor, he had crawled to the doorway, watching her drench herself in the rain, stop on the bridge and turn away with a grimace of disgust at her reflection, to finally sink to the floor of her room. It was going to be hard, he knew, but what was coming next had to be done. He had to ask her why. Why did she love a man who was forever asleep, distrusting of reality. She was flesh and blood, real to the touch, but like the flower she had kept alive and nursed to health, he had crushed her.  
  
And now he knew that she lay crushed and crumpled behind that shoji screen, alone and cold, dripping wet from foolishly walking in the rain. She wasn't thinking correctly, opting to be wet over staying dry if it meant not having to show her tears to the other workers at the Aoiya. Illness and a ruined Kimono were the prices she was willing to pay to keep her pain quiet. This thought of hiding Misao-chan's emotions seemed to aggravate him even more, and he let another prayer for atonement slip past his lips. He would have to execute a confrontation with the utmost caution where he would usually be the least cautious. Quick, wary, always moving the eyes, never letting them settle on the object of your adoration, that is what he knew to be the true way of an Oniwaban Okashira.  
  
A lightning bolt spotlighted the slamming of his foot down into the thick mud. Adoration? Aoshi tipped his head back, muttering some prayer that he only half-heard with his conscious soul. Adoration? Misao? That baby he had rocked to sleep, that little girl who had toddled across this very yard into Hennya's arms, that same woman who now cried over her struggles to warm his heart?  
  
What struggles she had faced too. And now this; it would either tear her to shreds or buoy her senseless affections that she held for him.  
  
Of course, he harbored the same affliction.  
  
"Look at what you've done to me," he raised his hands in a beg, a plead, an apology whatever. Yes, just look at what a mental train-wreck he was now that he was standing in a storm of his own turbulent emotions. "It's all you, it's all you,"  
  
How he truly hated her for it. For making him so lost within his own mind when he was already so lost in his dreams. Trade in imagination for reality and he would still be standing in an abyss alone and deep in the throes of nightmares, slicing down visages of both beauty and ugliness without flinching. How could she ever love a man such as he was?  
  
And as much as he hated her with the very venom of his poisoned soul, he loved her. Oh, how he loved her for letting her possess his clay corpse and make it move. How he loved her for loving him, for believing in the goodness that sat in the temple and prayed every day for atonement of his sins. She was his angel of righteousness, blessing him with her very presence. All could be forgiven eventually if such a gilded soul would hang off him.  
  
His feet seemed to move to the bridge, and he secretly hoped that her reflection would still be sprawled across the water's surface. Sadly, it was his own visage that sneered up at him. Passing by it, Aoshi continued on his path to forgiveness. It was never ending, relentlessly drumming against him like the rain. Casting a steely gaze up to the skies, Aoshi took a breath and felt drowned by the world. It was all too much, sleeping in this darkness, sleeping alone in confusion, fighting for balance every second of his life.  
  
With every step, he felt himself loosing grip on what he felt. Sense, perception, the rain. What did he feel? The blood coursing through his veins, the many scars crossing over his body, the water washing over his yukata, the life rushing in and out of his nasal passages, the mud and grass melting under his feet, the passion burning hot in that blood.  
  
His eyes drifted back down to see the shoji door closed in his face. And behind that was the woman he wanted to both take at the sunrise and leave for his storm to caress.  
  
Why did she love him?  
  
It was time to know, time to gather that vital information no matter how far he plunged headfirst when he would most assuredly lose his balance and fall.  
  
The door slid open almost eagerly, wanting to see him find Misao curled in a ball on the floor and wonder just what he was going to do about it. But even to the door, he couldn't answer that question as he watched her for a moment with the part of himself that remembered holding that same delicate form in his arms, lulling her to sleep. She had cried so much that night, during a storm like this.  
  
"Misao-chan," he breathed her name like a gasp of air as he bobbed to the surface of this world that had drowned him.  
  
She shuddered, visibly shaking as she uncoiled herself to kneel in front of him, her face hidden by the raven swath of her hair that was now plastered to her face. From his height he could confirm now that the kimono had been sufficiently ruined by walking in the rain. Traced flowers bled blue into the ivory, the sleeves roiling against the shoulders in a clash of foamy ocean that rocked his heart, threatening to throw him off the side of his single-manned boat.  
  
Taking another step closer, he held himself high, with arms hanging loosely at his sides, and shut the panel alongside a thunderclap. She quaked at the noise and he froze, the Okashira using every method in the book in order to discern her next move. Without moving, Misao drew tighter within herself, an instinctual habit derived when the body felt itself being threatened. Underneath that seemingly cold veneer, the adrenaline was pumping through her system, making ready for the spring that would ensure her survival. Apparently some of that hidden power force had leaked into her lips for they quivered with more than just the biting chill of Fall. She continued to sink within herself, tilting her head back enough to peer up at him through the silken threads of her bangs.  
  
"Aoshi-sama," she rasped, not bothering to cough out the tears that had rolled down her throat. "What," she paused to let her teeth chatter, and upon finding that the personal earthquake wanted to continue down the length of her entire body, took a suffering breath to slow down the inevitable, "do you want with me?"  
  
It was an animal whine that he heard, piteous and at the same time exacting, like her question. She was begging him to end it all, just cock the arrow for her heart and let the bow snap. She was pleading with him to let her understand what was going on inside his head. There was also a hint of shy, underdeveloped coyness in her tone, allowing for him to make the next move. Yes, it was an exceedingly simple question to answer and entirely too complicated for words when it was sliced apart.  
  
"I want," he chose his words carefully so as not to alarm her, though the image of a frightened animal had glossed over her just as a lightning strike had alighted her face, and deepened the shadows of her eyes. Taking another step forward, he came to stand over her. "I want you to answer me a question," he let his tone go soft and comforting, dredging up more memories for him than for her, though it was intended to relax the trembling ninja in the first place. He lifted a hand, slipping his fingers underneath her thick bangs, and swept them back behind her left ear.  
  
Again he couldn't breathe. She was too close, he was too close, he had his hands in her hair. And now he trailed those same fingertips back along the line of her jaw, letting them finally fall away into nothingness. "Nothing more,"  
  
Under his touch, he could feel her relax, a heavy sigh escaping her lips before she pulled her head away just as his thumb curved off her chin. "But there is more,"  
  
Only his ears heard her mumble those words from far away. His fingers though, were under the impression that skin still lingered for them to touch. Crouching there, Aoshi held his hand out to caress a cheek that was no longer within reach. Feeling his eyes widen and brows furrow in what some might call indignation, but his own mind would proclaim distress, he bit down on whatever sweet thought his mind chose to alleviate his panic with, and let his legs give out from under him.  
  
"There is more," she repeated, head hung so low that her shoulder blades protruded out of her back like the shorn wings of some angel. The words still held the whine of the animal, but the creature was slowly and surely becoming more confident in itself. She seemed to test the words before giving them voice, as if knowing they would have some effect upon the archer who threatened her life.  
  
Aoshi closed his eyes in the vain attempt to dissolve that illusion cloaking itself about his Misao-chan, the girl who would outrun an arrow, attack it with her kunai, or throw it off its path by physically kicking it before she would ever let it pierce her heart. And now here she was, facing away from him as she made a run for the one means of escape she had left herself. And he held the bow cocked.  
  
Was he the hunter? And more importantly, was he a hunter who honored the prey or the chase?  
  
Assuming the lotus position, Aoshi fought to regain mental control of the situation. They were both human beings, not an archetypal hunter clad in loincloth and a woodland creature with wide innocent eyes. He tried to picture them as they were now, both soaked to the bone, literally crawling over the wooden floor drenched in their normal clothes. The only thing unnatural about this scene was that Misao was crying on the inside instead of wearing her heart on her Oniwabanshu sleeve.  
  
"Isn't there?"  
  
Grabbing some hair in his hands, Aoshi hoped to yank his brain out by the roots and have it magically congeal into cohesion. Shaking his head, he recalled a day when being around her brought clarity, brought peace. Now, just breathing her same breath called forth the confusion and trumpeted for the chaos to charge ahead into his already warped sense of self. He glanced up through the tangle of hair and fingers and saw Misao as a baby, crawling for the first time. Her chubby little legs worked furiously to drag her small body back around to face him, and a toothless grin signaled her return, pleased at having gone so far in one day. He blinked again and she was a toddler, sitting down on the floor, mimicking his own stare back at him, and getting the desired results. A chuckle escaped from deep inside his throat before the present could snap back at him with the sting of a rubber band.  
  
"Aoshi-sama!"  
  
The years flickered across her features and the once round little face was replaced in shadows of age. Here she was, five now, crying out to him in the middle of the night. Poor thing, she must have had a bad dream.  
  
"Answer me!"  
  
Now this was Misao-chan at six, yelling at the group as they marched off to the meeting that would decide their fate as far as the Meji era and their involvement in it was concerned.  
  
"What do you want with me?"  
  
In one flash of light he was face to face with the Misao of the now, too close, too close . . . so close.  
  
There was nothing to focus on, nothing to clear his mind of her in this room without scrambling out of it. With adrenaline pumping, the roles had been reversed. She was the hunter, holding her tears back in a multi- caliber gatling gun, aimed and ready to fire at the first sign of movement. So he froze.  
  
However, the confusion was more persistent and wormed its way to his lips, growling, "You frustrate me,"  
  
The shock went white across her face, and she leaned back, his breathing slowing down at every inch that she withdrew.  
  
"Frustrate you?"  
  
"Yes," he shook his head, realizing that he still held it in his hands as he frantically threw it about. He was numbed from the floor up. No, he was apart of the floor, a mere floorboard that only she could tread upon and raise the splinters. There was no moving as an inanimate object, that much about balance preached to him to be true and so there was no means of escape for him. He felt himself falling and said, "You, it's only you,"  
  
"Nani?"  
  
Taking a breath, Aoshi loosed his hands from his scalp and stared at the blurry mess his Misao-chan had become and breathed, "You are the only one who possesses me,"  
  
"Wh-What did you say?"  
  
Her tentative words drove the thunder pounding outside into his heart, its power shaking him at the very core of his being. "It's only you," He reached out to her to steady himself, to make it all stop, and found her shoulder to grab a hold of. He felt his eyes tearing, the raindrops driving themselves into his skin like nails. And she would surely be drenched in it, suffer from it when she was this close to the storm. Pulling her clear of the water dripping off his psyche, Aoshi let his hands glide down her back and fold her into a life-saving embrace.  
  
She didn't struggle against him, just lay still, providing him with the warmth that he craved now even more than when he had first felt Kami-sama's tears wash over his face. Moving his head down to her ear, he took a breath and felt her tense.  
  
He pulled her closer, slowly tipping back to lie on the floor with her held against his chest. "You make nightmares blissful dreams," he whispered, allowing her to roll over his stomach and stay close to his right side. "To this man who is asleep, you are the dawn who greets him," Misao rested her cheek on his shoulder, the rest of her body nestled into the crook of his arm, trying to hear his voice, hoarse from the disuse because of silent prayer. "You watch over him like the angel you surely are," He turned his face to face her, "And I ask you this question: why?" 


	4. Perfection

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. I don't own the rights to ANYTHING like my dear Aoshi-sama or the spunky little Misao-chan. No, Nobuhiro Watsuki owns them and many other respected business-types. If ya like, want to comment, then by all means, please REVIEW!  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
Tears of Buddha  
  
Chapter 4: Perfection  
  
By Starhopper  
  
Pressing her lashes closed, Misao let the tears filter through and trickle down the sides of her face. It had taken so long, so long for him to realize it and now here it was. She created a morning for him to wake to . . . watching over him like the angel she surely was. Feeling her heart skip with every word, Misao shook her head and bit her lip. If this was a dream, she should wake now to save herself from a nightmare. This was just too cruel. Yet, it wasn't a dream, for when she opened her eyes, she was still curled at his side, his arm lightly grazing her back in an embrace that she knew he feared.  
  
Here was the confession she'd waited eighteen years for. It was lying on the floor with her, drained of all emotional strength, tearing at her heart that had turned so brittle with every shrug of indifference, every monotonous conversation, every bat of his motionless, frozen, eyes.  
  
Which were now slowly melting at the corners. Or was that the rain?  
  
"Aoshi-sama," She began in sincerity, "It isn't a question of why . . . that's a question that only you can answer,"  
  
He sighed, turning his attention back to the ceiling and the violet-black thunderheads pacing like hungry tigers above it. "But I'm lost,"  
  
She smiled, the sparkle of her tears catching the storm's violent outbreaks. "Then let me find you," placing a hand at the center of his chest, she brought herself to lean on her elbow. "You know I will if you let me,"  
  
He almost smiled as she rested her cheek at the base of his throat. "I've never had to 'let' you do anything before Misao-chan,"  
  
Catching the only opportunity allowed to her other than loosening the obi and showing how anatomically mature she was, Misao murmured, "That was when I was young. But I'm not a child anymore Aoshi-sama, I'm a woman,"  
  
"A fact that both logic and myself can not deny," he replied wistfully to the ceiling, "And that is what makes my mind ever more clouded,"  
  
"Clouded?" Was he lost in this haze because of her? Is that the reason she could not, no was not allowed to find him? Misao lifted her head from the damp skin where the water had collected as it drained off his face. She strove to catch his eye, hoping that in this position of defenselessness he would not leap from the floor and attentively stand over her, treating her as the child he envisioned. Maybe if their gazes locked, then she would know for certain. Did he hate her despite the fact that she did everything to make him love her?  
  
His head shook slowly, as if trying to outrun those determined little eyes that were hunting him. But as she rested her body on his, placing both palms on his chest, they ran straight for her.  
  
"Misao," he breathed her name again, and she could feel the tremors ripple through his body, causing her own to tremble. His eyes widened in an uncertain fear that she'd never seen before. Well, at least on him. "You're so innocent, and I'm so,"  
  
She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Lost. I know."  
  
"No," she sunk as his lungs deflated, "I'm falling," he winced, "I mean, I've fallen, I'm a lost cause."  
  
Letting her palm slide down the side of his face, she came to his chin and carefully caught it between her forefinger and thumb. "You shouldn't be, I caught you." She rubbed the area beneath his bottom lip with her thumb. "I've found you too,"  
  
The corners of his mouth twitched in uncertainty. Hearing the gears turn in his head, Misao could gauge that he was fighting with himself to smile or not to smile.  
  
"My Aoshi-sama, don't fight it; you've fought hard enough in your lifetime. Just let it come, as easily as your confession did."  
  
Melted ice splashed over the edges of his sockets as Aoshi smiled, a small tugging at the lips that spoke volumes of how grateful he was to have her with him, at the pinnacle of his inner-conflict.  
  
Mirroring him perfectly, Misao whispered, "Here you are," and pressed smile to smile.  
  
She closed her eyes and lost herself in the senses. He smelled wet, but masculine, the added incense from the temple that permeated the yukata proving to be very aromatic when added with water. His heart had started to thrum just a little faster beneath her right palm when she had initiated the kiss, but now that both pairs of lips had begun to relax against each other, it was practically leaping out of his chest. And his lips, those that had turned tight when on missions, and full when bowed in meditation were now soft and slightly herbal to taste, like the tea he ceremonially drank. The tea she carried to him every midmoring, now sitting cold on the floor of his darkened room.  
  
A crack of lightning flashed over her lids, brought her out of her haze, and back into the arms of her Aoshi-sama.  
  
With a raise of her head, she broke the kiss. But as she rose, so did a hand to pull her head back down, as well as another at the small of her back to ensure that she wouldn't fly away at the slightest opportunity. Arching her spine to mold the touch, she settled into his awkward embrace, the world turning over as she felt herself being rolled onto her back, the shower of kisses falling over her mouth like sakura blossoms.  
  
If this was a dream, let her never wake up.  
  
"Misao?" the whisper was soft, vaguely sedated, and layered over the rumbling of distant thunder.  
  
Her heart groaned and she reached out to pull the heat back to her, blindly searching in the darkness for the heavy fabric to twist in her hands. No, now she would have to face her empty room and ruined kimono. He had never come for her, never told her all that she hoped he felt, never kissed her. And worst of all, she would wake to find Aoshi guarded and stony, a face of granite that would never weather under any emotion. It could never crack under her words and cry the tears that had dripped onto her skin.  
  
But if this was a dream ended, it was only because of a survival instinct that foretold her ultimate death if she didn't wake up. She was nearly frozen after her walk in the storm. Her heart could continue to be wound about this vision forever, while her soul unfurled its wings and flew up to the great beyond.  
  
She wouldn't die that easy. Her eyes shot open to be met by his, two blue stars shining through the darkness, intently shining down at her.  
  
"Yes?" she was surprised at how frail her answer sounded, but couldn't counter herself with his his eyes piercing through her own.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you,"  
  
Hurt her? For the past two and a half years he had plucked the notes of her undying love for him with painful disinterest. Narrowing her eyes up at his, she practically growled, "Then don't stop." 


	5. Revelations

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. I don't own the rights to ANYTHING like my dear Aoshi-sama or the spunky little Misao-chan. No, Nobuhiro Watsuki owns them and many other respected business-types. If ya like, want to comment, then by all means, please REVIEW!  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
Tears of Buddha  
  
Chapter 5: Revelations  
  
By Starhopper  
  
He had been found under her lips. With the slightest touch of her fingertips against his chin, she had pulled him back from the abyss. And now he was lying over her, fully aware of the reality that thrummed through his chest, the skin that rose to his touch. He finally was taking her for himself . . . something that could not be allowed. In confusion, he could allow for the promiscuous daydream of shutting the shoji and letting his most inner desires ravish an innocent. But reality preached moral sensibilities that had been forgotten while still wandering through the haze.  
  
However, she had responded willingly, knowing full well that with every caress could come something much more -  
  
No. The driving urge to grant her request was swallowed before Aoshi brought himself to lean back on his knees before her, shivering under a sudden chill that whistled between the shoji and doorframe.  
  
The question in her eyes tore at his insides, at last scraping away at his skin when her voice asked what her eyes pleaded, "Why?"  
  
The memory of how her mouth had moved against his landed on his lips, but he shook it away. Far away. No, he was her guardian, her protector. He knew what was best for her, and what was best was for him to leave now. His icy blue eyes had been melted; he could see her clearly through the illuminated darkness of the storm, leaning towards him, the loosened obi allowing for a generous gape in the neck of her kimono, sheer midnight tumbling around her shoulders, wildly free from the confines of a braid . . .  
  
He felt his arms quiver like the strings of a bow, ready to send him flying back into her embrace. Oh if only the fog would descend and shroud her beauty in a haze of confusion like before. Then maybe he would gladly accept the role of hunter instead of predator.  
  
"You know why Misao," his tongue felt so heavy, laden with the syrup of her kiss, "Because you're a woman now."  
  
It had taken him so long to realize it, and now he agonized over that fact. This was why he let his mind fester over the mental scars he had inflicted upon himself, creating a forest for him to get lost in. This was the reason why he had forced his heart to freeze and regard the ninja from a distance. If he had ever noticed it before, the very act of waiting would have killed him with desire. Instead, the calculating mind of an Okashira had provided him with a catalyst. With every glance in her direction, he had disillusioned the blooming flower of maturity with memory. Her smile of reassurance was replaced by her smile as a baby, placing all hope in whoever held her. Her touch would be felt as nothing more than a tug on his shirt to play. And most distressing of all, her voice would fall on his ears as that of a child's, fawning over yet another act of her god, Aoshi-sama. The one she put high on a pedestal, the one that would someday come crashing down upon her in a torrent of confessions and caresses.  
  
Truly, how could she love a man such as he? A man who subconsciously guarded himself from the true wantings of his heart?  
  
A shiver trailed down from her shoulders as she knelt closer to him, her eyes refusing to leave his. "It's alright, Aoshi-sama," she soothed, pressing a palm to his heart. "If you accept that as truth, then it's alright," the hand snaked up to the nape of his neck, and he felt her pull his head down to meet hers. "Just kiss me again, and,"  
  
Aoshi felt himself slip, each syllable rumbling under her breath like thunder as she shyly pushed herself against him, covering her mouth over his, emboldened by his last return. If he had given her earthly blossoms, she was going to give him heavenly manna. No mortal man could resist its flavor.  
  
His mind was pleading with him to stop. But now that he had tasted her for the second time, it was hard to listen. She loved him. He loved her. Nothing could come between them short of Kami-sama's own hand appearing out of the skies, a monstrous fist crashing down on the couple. No, they finally had this moment to share together, alone, in peace.  
  
Visions of himself meditating in the temple flashed through his memory, biting reminders of how broken and wounded he had been. Oh, if only he had let her find him sooner, instead of dumbly slashing his way through the briars of the catalyst! But meditation had provided him with some solace, some other guard against the outside world. It had also guarded him from the true Misao. However, that had only been to save him from what he now hungered -  
  
'Am I so weak as to collapse under the demands of the body?' he wondered, giving into the heat burning against his chest. Spirit, heart; what had been so cold, was now so hot. Arms snapping to hold her, Aoshi sunk to kneel on the floor, the feather of his Misao cradled in his embrace. 'I've spent more time with the mind than the body,' he admonished, pulling back the shoulder of her kimono to reveal the tender flesh of her neck. 'Experiencing both brings balance.'  
  
Indulging in the revelation, he kissed her below the jaw line, moving down her neck to come to the hollow where he whispered her name. But it was more than just "Misao".  
  
'Can you feel my heart beating? Can you feel me smile? Of course you can, because it is you who has possessed me and made me move. You have it wrong, my Misao, you kiss me and everything will be alright,'  
  
Soft palms cupped each side of his face. She understood the whisper choked out by a man reanimated as only she could. Pulling his head up from its track along her collarbone, she guided his mouth back to hers, smiling for him as he trembled against her body. More heavenly nectar flooded his through his being, her warmth and passion seeping into every vein. She was his life, his blood, his heart.  
  
The kiss ended, and he sunk lower until his head rested against her left breast, his arms pulled tight about her waist. He felt the small weight on his head as she pressed her cheek against his bangs, molding her body around his to conserve the heat.  
  
He slipped into a meditative state just to listen to both of their hearts beating, enjoying this moment of the body with no mind to confuse him. All he needed was to feel her fingertips gripping his shoulders to know that he had been caught, and wouldn't fall again. 


	6. Affection

Tears of Buddha  
  
By Starhopper  
  
Disclaimer:  
  
WARNING: We've got lime, oh yes . . . earned a rating change too . . . read at your own risk  
  
But life is full of risks . . . what's a little angelic metaphor gonna hurt?   
  
The blood pounding in Misao's ears drowned out the shattering of a thousand thoughts in her head as his hands curved off her back and flowed along the backs of her thighs like liquid air. Through the material, his touch was just that more delicate than she had ever known fingers to be. So as they brushed against her knees, she willingly buckled under his caress.  
  
Surrender, that was the only thought standing brilliantly over its broken comrades. Obeying her body, Misao slowly eased herself on her back just as Aoshi rose himself up on one leg to tip her back. His hands returned from their tentative trail along her limbs to catch her elbows and setting her down softly, moved himself over her. Senses became overcast by dark clouds of brilliant blue and sculpted scars as he brushed his chest against hers.  
  
"Misao," he murmured against her jawbone while pressing kisses over the right side of her face. "You caught me," his mouth was suddenly hovering over hers, and Misao was aware for the first time that her eyes had closed when gravity pushed her against the floor. "Now I want you to - "  
  
Catching his lips with hers, she groped vainly in her blindness in search of his shoulder blades. Hooking her fingers into their divisions, she pulled him up to settle his body tightly over hers.  
  
"Lift me up," he whispered with some sense of triumph, now craning his neck down to stare directly into the closed lids. "But not –that- way," the sensation of sakura blossoms brushing against her eyes forced Misao to blink away the uncertainty she felt with his closeness. Her eyes found his half-lidded in a painful desire to hear her moan his name into the thunder growing somewhat more distant in the horizon.  
  
"Hear the storm Misao?" one of his hands darted into the neck of the kimono that gaped so perfectly to invite his close embrace. She could feel it slide over her left breast then felt his fingers press into the flesh at her spine, bringing her back to arch voluntarily into his rapidly rising and falling chest. "Are you frightened?"  
  
She barely nodded as his hand ran down the length of her body, coming to a natural position at her hip. At her imperceptible nod into the darkness, he stopped his careful positioning and looked at her. Shaking her head, she assured him, "It's breaking fast,"  
  
He gasped and prepared to withdraw himself away from her. "Too fast?"  
  
"No," finding her own hands at his shoulders, Misao let her fingers drift along his neck, under the fabric of his yukata, over the hard curve of his bicep, and along the sides of chest before bringing them back behind her. She smirked as he tilted his head with an endearing curiosity. With a giggle, she pulled the knot in the obi free and shook it off the side. "Not fast enough," she finished the move by gliding her fingers along the overlap in the kimono fabric and shyly pulled it open to reveal the true maturity he had been commiserating over for the past two years.  
  
Emboldened by her disrobing, Aoshi pushed the rest of the cumbersome kimono away from her flesh, placing a rough kiss to every inch bared to him until they lay on a natural bed of silk. An engulfing kiss was landed over her lips as she rose on her arms to shrug out of the long sleeves. Misao could hear the rain now, hard and forceful against the resistance of the roof. Sliding the neck of his thin robe off his shoulders, she returned the favors by pressing her lips over the scars on his chest. Aoshi paused in his kisses to guide her hands along the overlapping pieces of fabric to his waist and let her pull the rest of the yukata off. As he tossed it to the side, he continued to move his mouth along every curve of her body, breaking contact once in awhile when she lurched against him to kiss a shoulder or nuzzle against his chest.  
  
It was during those times that Misao could see the crashes of lightning creating the shadows of two lovers against the back wall, one softly lavishing his lady with both tender and caressing kisses while she lay under his touch, moving her hands up and down his chest, through and over his hair, around his neck, closing more gaps between their passion-ridden bodies than allowing others to open.  
  
"You're beautiful . . . Misao," the words came without great pain of acknowledgement, but with a tone of self-loathing. Her fingers pressed softly at the corners of his mouth, hoping to ease the grimace that had suddenly appeared. "I-I'm so sorry for-"  
  
His eyebrows rose in surprise as the same placating fingers slid across his lips, and she shook her head. "No, say nothing. We're here now . . ." Misao coughed to taste the words hiding at the back of her throat. Somewhat shyly, she added, "You're here now."  
  
Unexpectedly, Aoshi dipped his head down to capture her mouth in a kiss that scored her soul to the core and drove back any thoughts of stopping this overwhelmingly mad sense of peace and at the same time, inner chaos. As he withdrew, he smiled at the complete look of bliss that she knew she couldn't hide so why try. "I'm here, there's no need to be frightened." He whispered into her ear before tracing the outer cartilage with the tip of his tongue. "Is there?"  
  
Misao couldn't stop the tremors that started in her legs as he rubbed his knee against own, parting her legs to allow a more intimate and comfortable position for them both. Glancing into his eyes again for reassurance, the ninja shook her head at his question. No, no need to be frightened. Her beloved was here to wrap her mind and self around . . . to give herself to.  
  
Another smile graced his features as he pressed kisses to her slowly warming and reddening skin, passing over her body just as a rain shower floats over the landscape, leaving traces of its trail around the mountains and valleys. The earth shuddered with the euphoric atmosphere they had created as she strung herself about him, determined not to close her eyes and lose herself in the moment this time. All the while his eyes were set and searching, and she fully allowed all she contained to be stripped of still crumbling defenses. She fought off the painfully slow pressure rising deep within her by arching her back and squeezing her knees tight into his upper thighs, hoping with some primal hope that he would fill her entirely, sate the need completely. When at last, sea met exulting blue sky as rifts between self and body were thrown inside one another. A single spark of fire ignited from a recent lightning strike outside their four walls illuminated the pair as they writhed together as one.  
  
The hand lying at her hip twitched as they began to move to the rhythm of the storm drifting over the world. Drops of water running along the roof were dripping off his nose and sliding over her face as they broke free from the spiritual and rose through the storm to pierce the clouds with a resonating a cry. Higher and higher they soared, until tangled about each other, they dropped to the floor coated in silk. Heart beating in time with gasps and pants, Aoshi began again to lift her higher on wings bred of heat and with great sweeps of his tongue against her skin as the ceiling swirled high above her, preparing for a final ascension into the light. Climbing higher and higher, faster and faster, she was sped to the very peak of her desire. Her body reacted to the sudden pressure with a shiver, one that he soothed oddly by rolling onto his back. From somewhere outside of her flight, fingertips rocked her at her hips while agreeable masculine groans of her name overrode the discontent of storm clashes on the horizon. The sensation forced her to break through the blanket of stars and stare down at this man who had thrown her to the sky. It was here that she closed her eyes, giving a shrill scream to the little death that flashed darkly through her soul and wracked her body with a sudden and shared exhaustion.  
  
As quick as the push to the top had been, Misao fell off the peak with as much speed, if not faster. Aoshi caught her and set her back into the silken pool of cream and bleeding blue, pressing soft kisses and humming soft murmurs to accompany the even breathing and even softer sighs of his beloved. Crawling across the floor with a great show of strength in the face of a forceful orgasm, Aoshi managed to shake the futon free of his crossed kodachi and unfolded it in the name of decent comfort. He then gathered the limp form of his little Misao and placing her onto the wonderfully soft mattress, yanked a blanket from its hanging on the wall and covered them both in warmth. With a few glances escaping in his direction, Misao felt herself succumb to the power of blissful slumber. But not before she pulled herself to his side, draping a lazy left arm over his chest and nestling her head into the crook of his shoulder.  
  
One last kiss was pressed to her forehead as sleep poured itself into every pore.  
  
The rest of the night, now silent from both mind's and passion's musings, passed quickly over Aoshi's closed and twitching eyes as he sought to understand.  
  
He had pulled away, and she had followed. He had forced himself at a distance to not touch her, and she had only drawn him into her arms. He had lain her down on the floor, had made love to her with as much tender passivity and as much alert reaction as any daydream had foretold. And he had flown with her, raising her, then himself on the euphoric wind created with every motion, every sensation. Then he had peaked alongside her and fallen to the ground without impact.  
  
"Never before," he whispered aloud into the thick silence of the dark room that would never tell of the wonderful rhythm that had thrummed at its floors. The sense of calm at knowing he had truly been caught, then uplifted and that it was all at her hands placated the rising hackles of guilt. He had brought her to a breaking point and had delighted in how he made her rock and toss to pierce rays of light through his overcast sky. The cry had shaken him from the distinctly male satisfaction aroused by bringing a woman to ecstasy. And at the same time, he was cowed by the way those oceans she called eyes roiled on him right before pushing them both to the edge.  
  
"Never again," Misao added sadly into his ear, before loosening her possessive hold on his chest and moved to get up, though her legs among other muscles screamed in protest. Settling into a dejected kneel by his side, she hung her head and tried to unsuccessfully hold back the tears.  
  
"No," it was a breathless plead as his hand shot out to stop her, letting it fall wherever Kami wished. He touched the bruises at her hip, and drew his hand back as if it had been scalded. Reminders of his satisfaction seared his mind and forced him to shake his head. "That-That's not what I meant."  
  
"Really?" she looked up and into his eyes, making him melt into a complete and utter festering pile of self-loathing. Was that fear glittering at the corners of her eyes? And pain? Had he hurt her again?  
  
In answer, he pulled her into his lap, his hands stroking any part of her in an effort to still her quaking form. He stopped his palm over her heart and touching his forehead to hers, smiled a dazzling smile for her despite his worries.  
  
"You didn't let me say it before," he started softly, his thumb slowly rounding the sides of her breast in an absent-minded caress, though he knew a part of her afterglow had brightened with his attention. "I'm sorry, for what I've done, and what I was about to do to you." In the back of his mind his reasoning pounded at the table forefront to his actions, demanding that the last apology be rescinded. He wasn't the only one secreting the heat and building the tensions between them purposefully to drive either one wild.  
  
Misao was silent as his fingers moved away from her chest and combed through her long hair. Uncomfortable silence waged war between the want for her to insert a thought and the need to be enveloped in her body one more time before the sun rose and dried the rain from the blades of grass. The storm had broken, but the sun had yet to come running from its brilliant hiding place in the clouds.  
  
Coming upon his own anguish point, Aoshi stilled his nerves as the woman he held finally swallowed and took a deep breath. "You're wrong about one thing Aoshi," she started by suddenly turning her position to press chest to chest, twisting her torso so that her legs curled tightly about his waist. "I'm not sorry." Before he could say another word in protest, she cut him off. "I'm not sorry for anything that you've done. I am sorry that it took you this long to realize I was here for you to fall on." With a somewhat coy smirk she giggled, "And you sure fell on me."  
  
"Through you, on you, over you, into you." He breathed over her face as his hands drifted over her bare back, tightening their grip at her waist. "If only to fall again to have the sensation of being lifted up, I'd do it three thousand times over." Tone turning to marvel, Aoshi found his eyes wandering over her features, stealing glances at every inch of skin, and there were a lot of inches to cover.  
  
"I don't know if I could stand to wait three thousand times," playfully pouting, Misao kissed his bottom lip, lingering over the area until he moved his head to meet her mouth with a ferocious return. The kiss left her licking her lips appreciatively. "One time nearly killed me,"  
  
"Emotions are something I can't give voice to," he confessed with a face suddenly staunch and hard as granite. "But there are," he paused, his fingertips drawing sensuous circles into her back as he laced his words with the dark lust that had been rising since taking her into his arms one more time. "But I think you know what I'm feeling holding you like this,"  
  
Misao was about to respond with just as much enthusiasm as being asked to bring her savior his tea every morning when his hands slid up under her arms and prepared to raise her just as high, if not higher than their last flight. And he would wing his way beside her, and fall tangled within her into the rays of a new light.  
  
Aoshi broke the stone façade with a smile that glowed and shined like the wicked grin of the sun when it realizes it has come out of the storm unscathed.  
  
Misao sunk deeper within the embrace she was held in, determined to escape the morning rays of light skating their way between doorway and shoji, across the floor, dodging the hastily tossed kimono and equally soaked yukata, and finally coming to a stop on the wall above her head. But not before they delighted in a dance over her eyes.  
  
"Stupid morning," she growled softly into her lover's shoulder, sure that her all-time protector would stop the assault with an order barked out of frustration. "Aoshi make the sun go away,"  
  
He turned his back to the door, sheltering her little body with his own from the offending morning. "Better?" he asked in a garbled monotone, clearly not ready to be woken from sleep yet.  
  
She nodded into his chest as she pressed herself close against him. "Can you always stop the morning?"  
  
"If I wasn't so tired, I'd be able to shut the door." A clear blue eye opened to admire her sarcastic smile of wonder. The other one opened slowly as a grin formed upon his lips. "But for some reason I don't even want to move."  
  
Agreeing with him, Misao tugged the blanket tighter about herself and shivered, but didn't appear to be cold. On the contrary she was hot and sticky with sweat that hadn't had a chance to dry before another layer started to coat it. Then another, and another, and . . .  
  
"Cold?"  
  
His question left her fumbling for reality as the sun, angered at her attempt to avoid its emissaries, promptly lit the room up through the paper shoji.  
  
Shaking her head, she giggled. "Excited, and a little scared. The morning's waiting for us, but there's also a whole world behind it," Misao swallowed, the next words becoming muffled with a turn of her head into the crook of his neck. "Where do we go from here?"  
  
"Where do you want to go Misao?"  
  
"Straight into your arms to hide from it," she didn't bother to bite her tongue before the words just slipped out of her mouth of their own volition. She suddenly realized why her other friends had avoided creating intimate relationships. There was so much uncertainty in a future shared with your best friend. With the man you shared so much history with, it might take a little more effort to forget the past in order to focus on the present flights of passion, fascination, and maybe even family.  
  
"I'll hold you until you learn to look beyond the ugliness that exists in the world, and accept the beauty in a flower coming to bud, spreading its leaves, and finally blooming into a wondrous night." His left thumb and forefinger caught her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. "I have and the world holds so much more promise for happiness than I ever thought possible."  
  
"Because of me?"  
  
He nodded with a soft smile, a smile that touched something deep within her and left it tingling at its delightful warmth.  
  
"I could bathe in that smile you know," she returned his smile with one of her own.  
  
"It's yours," his eyes hardened to a determined light blue that wasn't quite ice, nor liquid either. "It always has been," pulling her mouth to his, Aoshi suddenly noticed that her lips were still well swollen from their sudden flurry of activity last night, and decided to press a feather- light kiss over her mouth. He smiled with great abandon as her tongue brushed against his, and he suddenly turned lucid again as he reacted to her advance with one of his own. At last they broke apart, causing Misao to lie on her back and finger the gray bangs that hung into his eyes. With her playing, he couldn't help but beam at how comfortable she felt with him, even considering the cough circumstances.  
  
"I want to go with you," he brushed some strands of hair from her own eyes. "Wherever you go, I want to be with you, guiding you, tasting your decisions as if they were my own."  
  
"Could you say that without smiling?" she asked with a childish curiosity.  
  
Smirking, he shook his head, adding, "Nope, absolutely not,"  
  
"I can't imagine you without me," She caught his hand from the tender pulling at her tresses and stared hard into his elusive blue eyes. "I can't live without you Aoshi, I wouldn't want to."  
  
"I don't think I could stand the thought of not having you in my life," looking over his shoulder, Aoshi regarded the world waiting beyond the doors to their safe and secure haven. "But in order to live, we must step outside. Just this once everything will be different. Just this one morning you'll have to face with some fear. But once we're standing before all, this one morning will fade into memory."  
  
With a resolute nod in agreement, Misao let him rise to dress, fingers trailing the veins in his hand as he stood up from the comfort of the futon. He came back to fold her into the sheet again before darting through the door. Quelling the shouts of muscles furiously exhausted kept her busy until he returned with a fresh kimono and loincloth that he proffered without a word.  
  
She took the clothes in exchange for her modesty blanket, which he held with arms wide apart to facilitate her hurried change. Under the cool repose, she caught him running his eyes over her body one too many times in appreciation. Having tied the obi in a simple knot, she tilted her hair to pool over one shoulder and began to separate the strands into pieces for her signature braid. Her Okashira dropped the wall of Jericho between them and grabbed her busy hands in his. Shaking his head, Aoshi directed her attention to the moment ahead.  
  
"Let them see you as I see you." He took a step closer, kicking the blanket out of his way. His pointer finger glided along her jaw that had somehow firmed to a mature line overnight. He then traced the round breasts and lithe form hiding beneath the boxy kimono with the same finger. Doubling back to her face from whence it began, he bent to place a kiss to her chin, then drifted his lips up to hers as a sign of reassurance.  
  
Standing back he admired her beauty in all its womanly prowess. He had been a fool, would always continue to be a fool for misinterpreting every thing about her as that of a child's. Why, he could take her in his arms and strip her free of the kimono again without protest. It would also delay the inevitable.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Yes," she then placed her fingers over his palm and nearly drew back at the almost imperceptible tremor running through his body. Aoshi, her Aoshi was just as nervous to step outside as she was. "Aoshi, swallow some of your own advice for my sake," she soothed with a smile as her other hand glided over his wrist and hovered over the cerulean veins.  
  
She didn't have to stare into his lidded eyes for long while her thumb gently massaged the lines from his skin. He bent and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead that sent her reeling back into the past. As a baby, as a toddler, as a young girl, as a woman, and as his lover she had treasured this gentleness, this radiant placidity that emanated from the tall and mysterious man who now waited to escort her into the future.  
  
Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck and hugged him hard. A different form of euphoria overwhelmed Misao as she was lifted high into his embrace when Aoshi stood to his full height. Burying his face in her hair, she could hear him breathe in, then exhale in a meditative breath. He set her back down, and without another word, turned toward the door. Grabbing her hand in his, he led her through the doorway between the storm and clear skies.  
  
Stroking his beard thoughtfully, Okina eyed the two souls separated and brought together by the tears of Buddha now standing at the edge of uncertainty. He knew their fears were warranted, falling in love and being love was never easy. Not even for someone as lively as Misao. Or for someone so unused to living as Aoshi was.  
  
"Commiserating over the past will never do," he coughed under his breath, drawing his hands behind his back and shaking his head. Behind his objection to their anxiousness stood several exceptions to that rule. Judging from the Aoiya's dumb luck when it came to failing miserably at protecting loved ones from the turbulence of the outside world, there were certainly foes to fear. There might be more battles to fight, more tears to cry, more children to defend, but even those fears combined with the little things that popped up in everyday life could never deter people as stubborn as his Okashira and his ninja.  
  
"Well, if there is nothing to fear from us, why don't you greet them?"  
  
Okina turned at the voice and found a horde of waiting smiles pleading at him from the faces of all the Oniwabanshuu. Damn his foggy thoughts . . . age never cleared focus from what was present on the mind.  
  
He nodded much to the girls' nods and the men's grunts of approval. Turning on his heel, Okina began to walk at a steady pace across the yard, keeping a knowing smile firmly tucked under his mustache. As he approached the bridge, he rose a hand and waved to the couple standing on the porch, and called out the most cheerful "Good Morning!" he had ever heard himself say before.  
  
Finally shaken from their frightened stupor, the two lovers strolled with a brisk step to join him at the center of the bridge. Once there, Okina took Misao into his arms in a polite show of affection, and after standing back to admire this woman who'd grown up right in front of his very eyes, chose the final moment to shoot Aoshi a wink. He then let Misao drift back Aoshi's side, smiling with a good natured, "Nice of you two to finally get up, there's work to be done after all!"  
  
"I know," Misao bit her lip and looking flustered, shuffled her feet guiltily. "There's dishes to be washed, customers to be served, and then there's the laund-"  
  
"Nothing of the sort!" Okina snorted. Seeing the surprise on his adopted grand-daughter's face, he continued, "On the contrary, there's flowers to be picked, lanes to be strolled, and of course futons to be folded." He winked again. Misao caught it with a blush that dyed her entire face beet- red.  
  
"Go on," walking behind them, Okina put a hand on each back and attempted to push them onward with their day. "Get on with your lives now and don't forget, we'll help you as much as you need it,"  
  
"We'll need a lot of it," the old man heard Aoshi whisper to Misao as they twined their fingers together under the cover of long sleeves and giggles joined by deep chuckles.  
  
"They won't need much," Okina grinned to himself, cocking his head to marvel at the pair as they walked toward the baths. "As for the rest of you," his gaze shifted to the pairs of couples who had been eying each other as if thoughts of breaking a storm of their own had come into mind just with the appearance of the new lovers. "It might take more time,"  
  
But for Aoshi and Misao, it was just time enough.  
  
And that's all she wrote! Well, maybe not, I have an idea in mind for an epilogue, but that will have to come after Finals . . . which is what I should have been doing instead of finishing this puppy up. Drop a review if you'd like to see one (it'd be cute and fluffy, promise!) or if you want to congratulate me on finally finishing a multi-chapter fic. Any comments are appreciated, even to flame me on my metaphors! laughs  
  
Thanks for reading, 25 reviews is quite impressive for this fic borne from idle daydreams about a storm, the icicle, and the weasel.  
  
Starhopper 


	7. Epilogue Expression

Tears of Buddha

"Expression – an Epilogue"

By Starhopper

Disclaimer: Nope, nadda, zilt, zilch. Iie, no, nine. Don't own them at all. Cause if I did, I'd let Misao go, in the words of Fleetwood Mac, "crazy on" Aoshi. Yup, just throw those two in a closet and swallow the key. I'm sure that'd make everybody happy.

THANK YOU for the reviews! 39 is a good number, and I'd like to personally thank everyone who has ever reviewed this story. I'm so happy that you all like it. And don't worry, it was supposed to make you cry, touch you in a special place (wink) and maybe even get some people thinking about how utterly terrifying it is to be in love, realize love, and face love for the first time.

Again, thank you. I hope this epilogue will end my lovely dream nicely with a yawn and good a start to the day.

The swell of its crest caught his sky-blue eyes before the scent tickled his nostrils. Bending down on one knee, the young man peered down into the grass to inspect such a priceless treasure.

To the ignorant eye it was just a flower. A long green stem tipped by a still-life explosion of red petals. Yet the plant seemed to blush as calloused fingers brushed over the bloom. And it shivered as the touch drifted down to the warm earth that babied it so. As the young man teased the stem free from its roots it fell back into his palm with a grace that could only be described as a feminine swoon. Picked up between two fingers, twirling and spinning in the sunlight as he examined its exquisite beauty, it seemed to move to steps of its own like a dancer crossing the stage.

A dark shadow fell over him along with a whispered, "Aoshi?"

Her lover in question lifted his soft blue eyes from the embarrassed petals and soared through the heavens to settle on the angel standing above him. Remaining bent on one knee, he deftly flipped the stem around and slipped the flower behind her ear.

Both her eyes and fingers questioned the bloom and the role it had played in their lives just eight months prior to this day. With a nod and a brilliant smile, Aoshi relieved the fear that had flitted softly over her features. "With all the changes, I never apologized,"

"But you did!" Misao all but screamed at the thought of that night wracked with storm clouds and bolts of passion. Finding herself in the present looking back into the past flurries of events, the snowstorm overwhelmed her senses and resulted with a shake of her head. "You never needed to tell me once I found you,"

"I'll shower you in flowers all your life Misao," He whispered, the back of his hand running rough and drawing shivers over the arch of her cheekbone. The touch, though warm and tender, drew chills of another kind . . . a more familiar kind.

The stinging déjà vu threw the ninja into her own wedding, which was caught in its own maelstrom of petals. She remembered peering through the pink snow and found the staunch figure of her beloved standing impervious to the tosses of nature's confetti. He'd stared hard into her eyes then too, never so determined to leap forward and face the next day with his smile to guide her. His words had kept her focused, transfixed by the ice that had crystallized over his persona. She remembered the allure of failure tempting her nose at the sight of her old Aoshi-sama.

Kissing her as husband to wife, she was finally assured of the heat she'd worked so hard to stoke. Pulling away drew the applause and garbled laughter of their friends and the smallest member of the band from Tokyo. The Himura's tiny son greeted Mrs. Shinomori the next morning at the kitchen table with gleaming wondrous eyes and chubby little waves. Every part of him was warm, and soft and tangible to hold dear to a mother's heart. Misao's eyes grew soft as she stared at her husband of six months.

"I," unlike his wife, Shinomori Aoshi was still very much guilted into the present. Ducking his head in repent he murmured, "I made a horrible mistake giving you that flower,"

A kick displaced her from consciousness and sent her head spinning. Landing at the pit of her stomach, Misao covered the offense with her palm and stifled a giggle. "Aoshi-anata, to me that aphid-eaten weed was the sweetest rose,"

Aoshi remained crouched in silence, head cocked and eyes disbelieving as Misao put her hands on his shoulders. His own arms immediately rose to catch her inner-arms as she lowered herself to the ground.

"I love that flower, I love this one, and I love you," pulling him in for a hug, his little wife conveniently lost her balance, dragging him over her as she tipped and settled her back on the mattress of grass.

"Are you okay?" The laughter in his bright blue eyes was dampened at the sudden switch in position. They narrowed in concern for her safety as well as –

Misao nodded, annoyed at being asked that question for the tenth time that day. "Aoshi, I'm fine . . ." Her hand slid down the collar of his trench coat and fell protectively to the perceptible abdominal swell padded under the obi. "As long as I'm with you, we're just fine." Her grin of assurance was caught in the lips of a very relieved smile.

From the perceptive eye of her spirit, Misao could see the grass lawn shrink to a tiny speck below them. Aoshi's hands fell over her chest and with a sensuous massage, brought her physical body up to meet with her already flying self. She was lifted every time he squeezed and pressed to a height that he had reached numerous times during stints of meditation. Through his gentleness, now familiar and enveloping, she experienced the same sense of calm and yet complete and utter chaos. She was alive in his arms, aware of every aspect of life from the rhythm of his pulse as his wrist brushed over her ribs to a sudden clap of thunder with every beat of her child's heart as it lived deep within her womb. It was proof that life and sanity existed, at least for this individual who suckled off its mother's energy and cemented a bond of love tighter than any held between lovers.

Her hand tightened over the top of the kimono and squeezed the material in a universal sign of protection. A memory suddenly tugged at the back of her mind, begging to be recalled as she fell deeper and deeper into this intimate trance.

Trance . . .

Meanwhile, as Aoshi deepened the kiss, he traced his fingers over hers and gently pried them loose from the maternal death-grip that closed around the bottom edge of the obi. Reaching under the thick pad, Aoshi came to the kimono folds that overlapped each other in a playful embrace. He continued to slide his left hand over her stomach and around her waist until soft flesh met his fingertips. Smiling wickedly over her mouth, Aoshi doubled back, this time gliding his fingers along all the right places.

Misao melted into his shape at every brush, relishing in the attention. With his movements, the memory replayed and blended with the present. She was lying on her futon as a three, no, four-year-old, and Aoshi-sama was lying on his side next to her. His lips, though occupied at the moment as he kissed her neck and behind her ears, were back then whispering lullabies that softened the night and made her want to fall asleep, if it was only to wake up to any song her god sung. Lyrics started humming at the back of her throat just as a fingertip edged its way against the sharp edge of an orgasm.

Arching her back, the song whining high into her vocal chords, Misao twisted into it. It was at this moment, just as his wife came tumbling back down to earth, that Aoshi palmed the small swell at her abdomen and stopped the rapid descent with a rush of realization.

"I love you both so much,"

Wide ocean-set eyes popped open and stared blankly into the motionless sky so void of life. The clouds moved with no energy of their own. The blueness of the sky was not caused by inner-explosions of sensation and pleasure. She suddenly felt strangely disenchanted with a world where movement and abandon were nonexistent for it simply needed something more.

Reassuring laps at her bottom lip filled the void with the mere presence of her most treasured love. Inhaling his richness, more flashes of the past scratched at her retina, and Misao found herself staring into sky-blue eyes shrouded by the dark velvet of storm clouds.

"Drown me," she whispered over his mouth, still locked into the memory of quenching a thirst for his attention. "Aoshi,"

Wordlessly, her husband answered her with another stroke over her pregnant stomach and the sudden withdrawal of his hand. Raising himself off her, Aoshi came to kneel aside her, shaking his head with a smile. "Wait for the sun to set," his words were promising and soft like the beautiful arch her back was still formed in. They were almost pleading, equally consoling for her as well as assuring for himself.

Satisfied with his answer, Misao finally relaxed out of her beg and pressed the small of her back to the mattress of grass. Feeling a rustle a moment later, she wasn't surprised to find her head suddenly resting on Aoshi's lap. Twining through her hair, his gentle fingers found her temples and began to gently massage out any headache that threatened to intrude upon his wife's solitude.

Her smile was genuine as she whispered, "Aoshi-anata,"

Aoshi was lost in his own thoughts and nodded vaguely to the question in her voice. "Aa?"

Misao found her gaze drifting from the sky down to scrape her toes. Clutching at the fabric that delicately smoothed the bulge that had grown steadily over a few months, she wondered where the anxiety lay behind the question that was reticent to roll off her tongue had originated. Suddenly a nervous shudder snuck up on her and was met with a gentle neck massage and an even more soothing tone. "What is it my Misao-chan?"

Her fingers stilled his own as she tilted her head back to look in his eyes. "Do you fear the future?" Silence cloaked Aoshi like a comfortable old blanket as Misao continued. "Because I do. Every morning I wake up and wonder if our happiness will last through the day,"

"I'm sorry if I've ever made you doubt my promise to ensure your eternal happiness," his words were rushed and emotional, sincerely apologetic and if her gaze had floated away from the sky of his eyes, she would've seen the slight quiver of his chin.

Patting his hand was assurance enough before his young wife could speak. "No, Aoshi, I trust you to protect us. With all my heart I do. But I can't keep some fears from popping into my head."

Aoshi again returned to battle the stress attacking his wife's nerves, murmuring that he could easily slit the throat of anyone who dared interfere with her well-being. However, he couldn't keep the word 'us' from popping into his own head. Yes, there was indeed an 'us' that he was responsible for, an 'us' that signified the growth of his own family. Thoughts of the past that he kept locked tight within a steel-frame flashed in all their significance. He had lost a family of friends before, had been entirely alone, and then by the grace of his personal angel had been given a second chance.

The warmth that stirred in his heart was different from the electric shock of his love's touch. Ferocious in all its primal glory, the duty to protect this family at times overrode other needs, other wants. For the first time in his life, Aoshi could actually sense his maturity from a transparent ghostly form forever lost to a vibrant alive individual found within the faint heartbeat of his child.

"With my last breath of this air that you made sweet, I will protect you both."

"I believe you more than I've ever believed anyone in anything," Misao said, heart heavy in each word. "So please, let me take care of us so you can protect us."

"Are you saying that I shouldn't worry?" His brow was furrowed and his guess given foundation when his wife broke into giggles. Of course, his inquiring tickle at her neck didn't help the situation.

"No," Smiling as she shrugged off his fingers, Misao continued, "Just worry about things when there's something to worry about."

Aoshi blinked, then bending his head in placation, conceded, "A young wife, carrying my child, who still practices her Keicho kicks behind my back isn't something to worry about?"

The look on the shinobi's face was worth every aggravation she'd driven in him by refusing to act as a traditional wife should. Reprimanded and embarrassed, Misao smoothed the already straightened folds of the obi around her waist. Her lips turned down in the cutest of frowns as she shifted to fill the nervous silence.

"You haven't said anything, I assumed you didn't mind,"

"I mind everything you do, Misao." He tapped her lightly on the nose with the tip of his finger. "And I try to ignore all that I see."

"Don't ignore too much," reaching a hand up to pinch his chin, she giggled, "You might miss something," and winked.

Nodding, he quietly hooked his arms under her armpits and hoisted her to her feet. Before she could say anything that resembled a protest or a whine about how nauseous she got whenever he did something so fast like that, he pulled her back into his chest, and crossed a strong embrace in front of her body. A palm drifted over her heart and she immediately grabbed for it to hold it there.

"Aoshi,"

"Aa?"

"How much longer till sunset?"

He chuckled as he pressed her closer, sure that she'd faze on through him and stand untouched on the other side. He'd wake up and find this paradise a delectable dream.

Just to make sure, he pinched himself and wanted to laugh as the pain rippled around the bend in his thumb.

"Not long, my Misao. It will come sooner than you think,"

"So, in the meantime. . . how about some dinner?" she craned her neck up to see his expression. Finding it thoughtful and devoid of the sky-blue eyes that starred her nights, she relaxed back into her original position and drew wistful circles over the misleading flatness of her pregnant tummy.

"So in the meantime," she said again, this time in a whisper petal soft for his ears alone. "How about making the most out of the day? We're not afraid."

"Aa, I know we're not," he acquiesced with a reassuring flex in his arms and letting go of her body to hold just one hand. He traced the curves of his wife with his eyes before starting their stroll.

A/N: I did it! Was it any good? I deliberated on it for so long, it's just been collecting dust. (Blowing off the dust) Can you see it clearly?

Tell me how I did in a REVIEW please, because I'll never turn down a review of any sort. It just makes my writing that much better.

Till next time, peace and love to all!

Starhopper


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